


I'm going to a safer place

by momentsintimex



Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Gen, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Past Abuse, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:42:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29522424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/momentsintimex/pseuds/momentsintimex
Summary: Monty and Justin live far more similar lives than either of them would care to admit.It's only when they're able to take a step back and look at their upbringing that they realize all they have is each other.or: an overview of Monty and Justin's friendship from elementary school to present day
Relationships: Montgomery de la Cruz & Justin Foley
Comments: 24
Kudos: 15





	1. Justin.

Justin hears Monty before he sees him.

Over the chaos of the locker room, teammates bouncing into each other, laughing loudly about a video or text message, Monty’s demeanor is heard loud and clear, at least in Justin’s mind.

“You get on the wrong side of Meth Seth again?” he asks, a smirk evident on his face. “Haven’t you learned to not do that, Justy? It never ends well for you, and judging by how you look, I don’t think that’s gonna change.”

Justin slams his locker shut, adjusting his t-shirt to hide the black and blue patterns lining his torso. “The fuck do you care?”

Laughing, Monty crosses his arm over his chest. “You gonna be at Brycey’s tonight? He’s been missing his top boy.”

“I’m sure he has,” Justin retorts, shoving his cleats into his worn Liberty Tigers bag, the edges fraying from overuse. “Considering it’s in my best interest to steer clear of home right now, yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Justy is gracing us with his presence tonight?” Bryce smiles, announcing his presence as he slings an arm lazily over Justin’s shoulder. “I thought we’d never see the day again.”

“It’s been two weeks,” Justin argues, shrugging off Bryce’s embrace. “I think you’ve been surviving just fine without me.”

Peering into his bag, Justin shoves his sweaty football t-shirt and gym shorts far into the bottom, zipping it up and slinging it over his shoulder. “Don’t get too attached to me. You’re the one who says you don’t have to keep us around.”

He shoves past Bryce, shoulder knocking against his, and walks out the back door of the locker room towards town in hopes he has enough money to get something to eat.

**____________________________**

There was a time when Justin and Monty were best friends.

Bonded by the worst of circumstances, Monty can remember the first time he realized their home lives were more similar than either of them could’ve imagined.

They were nine, fourth graders at Bayview Elementary. Monty was quiet, sticking behind Bryce and his friends. He knew this was the right move - Bryce lived in a large house with parents who let him do what he wanted. Monty sleeping over there was normal, as was Justin.

So, when Justin turned up one evening with a bruise on his jaw and cut through his eyebrow still tinged with blood after being dropped off by his mother, out of it and barely able to form coherent sentences, Monty knew Justin was like him.

From a home without the love and nurturing it seemed Bryce experienced in his own home. From parents who cared more about themselves than they did their own children. From a place where home didn’t mean safety, it meant surviving through the night.

Monty spent four years plucking up the courage to ask him what was going on, on a rainy evening they spent in the pool house after Eleanor, Bryce’s maid, tended to the bruise across the base of Justin’s throat and down his collarbone. Monty watched with careful eyes as Justin balanced the ice pack on his shoulder, sinking back against the cushions and going for kills in _Call of Duty_.

“Did your mom’s boyfriend do that?” he asked tentatively when Bryce left to go see if Eleanor could fix them some snacks, eyes staring straight at the TV as Justin hid behind a dumpster in the game.

“Why do you care?” Justin asked, eyes flicking between the screen and the boy beside him. They never talked about things outside of sports, had never been to each other’s houses, but even at the age of twelve, far more experienced with the pains of the world than most kids his age, Monty knew.

He didn’t slip and fall on the concrete like he told Eleanor. And previously, he’d never been hit in basketball or football to get cuts or bruises in unexplained places. He hadn’t fallen on the tile floor and taken a slice out of his forehead. His broken arm hadn’t been from playing football with his stepdad or fooling around on his bike going down a hill.

They had all been from abuse, and Monty didn’t like that Justin wouldn’t admit it.

So, with shaking hands and his heart pounding underneath his shirt, Monty turned and lifted his own shirt, exposing his scrawny body and the bruises that circled from his back around to the front, angry and dark against his tanned skin.

Justin pauses the game, staring at them. “When?”

“Two nights ago. Dad was drunk,” he replies, pulling his shirt down and sinking back against the pillows. “We got in a fight, he pushed me back against the wall. I guess his punch caught me just right.”

Justin sucks in a breath, nodding in understanding. A silence passes over both of them.

“Does he…” Justin stops, shaking his head.

Monty rests his hand protectively over his midsection, shaking his head. “He doesn’t touch Estela,” he answers, seeming to understand where Justin was going.

Justin nods, unpausing the game. “Sucks that you get it though.”

Shrugging, Monty reaches for his soda. “Rather it be me than her.”

“I think I’d feel the same if I had siblings,” Justin agrees after a moment, tossing the controller in his direction when someone kills him.

**____________________________**

Justin had no interest in fighting to keep his friendship with Monty alive. He didn’t see the benefits of it - Monty offered no stability, no safe place to run when things got bad at home - and even if he did have that, he and Monty were too similar to ever get along in the same way he seemed to get along with Bryce.

So he kept his distance. He interacted with Monty when they were hanging out in Bryce’s pool house, downing beers and smoking weed, junk food wrappers littering the coffee table. He fought him in _Call of Duty_ , knocked him off Rainbow Road in MarioKart with a cackle and a wince as Monty shoved hard against his shoulder, and rolled a joint expertly before handing it over to the boy beside him.

He talked to him at the cramped lunch table, rolling an apple across when he realized Monty didn’t bring anything for lunch, watching his mannerisms as he twisted uncomfortably, a purple and blue blemish peeking from beneath the sleeve of his t-shirt.

There were days where Monty’s eyes would linger on him, watching him take a bite of stale bread and peanut butter he was attempting to pass off as lunch when Amber had been too strung out the last few days to buy anything new.

Some days, there were hushed whispers between them. Flickers of concern passed between them, a stark reminder of how each knows the other circumstances at home, even if they don’t want to talk about it.

Justin hadn’t been able to bite his tongue in the locker room after a weights session as Monty huddled in the corner, peeling his sweaty t-shirt off to quickly replace it with a clean t-shirt.

The chatter and teasing in the locker room amongst the other guys had been enough to distract their eyes from noticing the garish bruises lining Monty’s torso, spanning across his ribs and down to his hip, disappearing beneath his gym shorts.

“Holy fuck,” Justin whispers, staring at the bruises.

Monty turns around, hastily pulling his shirt over his head. “Shut the fuck up, Foley,” he hisses, adjusting his shirt with a wince. “Don’t fucking draw attention to it.”

“How did you do anything today? Bench pressing must’ve hurt like a bitch.”

Monty hastily grabs at his backpack. “Shut the fuck up, Justy. Unless you want me to make it look like Seth did the same to you, you won’t say anything about this to anyone.” He brushes past Justin without saying another word, leaving Justin standing in the locker room with Luke and Zach asking what the fuck happened, the words stuck on his tongue.

**____________________________**

“Seems Monty got into a bit of trouble with his dad last night,” Bryce says, lining up the coke on the pool house counter before snorting it. “Old man beat him. Says he’s not coming here tonight.”

“Sucks,” Justin mumbles, his beer bottle clattering against the glass top of the coffee table. “He just told you all this shit?”

“Had to weasel it out of him,” Bryce shrugs, wiping the edge of his nose with his sleeve. “Can you believe the bastard tried to hide it from me? As if I didn’t know his dad beat the shit out of him, even worse when he’s drunk off his ass.”

Justin reaches for the Xbox controller, pulling his feet underneath him.

“You know, Justy,” Bryce begins, crossing the pool house and sitting down in the chair, kicking his feet back, “you and Monty aren’t all that different from each other, are you? Both got daddies who beat the shit out of them, both have useless mothers who don’t step in.”

“Seth isn’t my dad,” Justin replies weakly, maneuvering through the opening menu as if he had the game at his own home.

Bryce laughs, popping a beer open. “Close enough,” he shrugs. “Probably the closest thing you’ve ever had to one, right?”

“Fuck you,” Justin spits, reaching for another beer.

He watches Bryce swig back the beer, tilting his head to stare at the ceiling. “Lighten up, buddy. You know I was kidding.”

Justin hums, setting his beer aside to focus on running through the barren streets of the video game, the buzz of the pool equipment outside the door vibrating through his brain.

And maybe the cynical part about all of this is that no, Justin didn’t know Bryce was kidding. Bryce had always made jabs like this, from the time he was old enough to realize that his life was not the same as Justin’s. His life was full of nannies who accompanied them on extravagant vacations to the Alps for skiing or the Caribbean for weeks of laying on a quiet beach with the crystal blue waves lapping at his feet. It was full of maids who cleaned up behind all of his messes and cooks who made the most exotic cuisines from their home countries, attempting to teach Bryce about their culture and foods eaten around the world. It was a family with two parents, who may not have loved him as much as they should have, but cared enough to give him shelter and new clothes when he wanted and showed up to his football games and school events.

Justin came from a rundown apartment, lace curtains hanging to cut the space between his mother’s room and the living room. He came from the electric being shut off because the bill was late, hypodermic needles left uncapped on the bathroom counter, pantry and fridge barren because his mother begged off her shifts to a teenager in search of pocket money so she could look for her next fix. It was a revolving door of men, most abusive, some drug addicts, all looking to manipulate and take advantage of a woman Justin felt he knew less every day. It was looking up into the stands during the biggest football game of the season and seeing no one there from home, returning home to find his mother overdosed on the sofa, needle sticking out of her arm.

When Bryce found this out, he used it to his advantage. Sleepovers turned into week stays, Nora Walker casting concerned glances across the dining room table as Justin scarfed down his second plate of food, a thank you tumbling out between bites. New shoes turned into beer and cheap liquor, and Justin always had to have Bryce’s back in return. Justin became Bryce’s enabler, allowing him to walk all over students at Liberty with reckless abandon and hardly a pushback from any of them.

Justin can remember the first time Monty joined their group. At nine years old, Bryce sauntered up to their lunch table and tossed his lunch sack onto the linoleum surface, sliding an extra peanut butter and jelly Eleanor made that morning for Justin in his general direction. “This is Monty,” Bryce nodded, a younger, smaller boy with thin-rimmed glasses and a ghost of a bruise across his jaw sitting beside him, shoulders hunched. “He’s gonna hang out with us.”

Justin shrugged, nodded in Monty’s general direction, and poked his straw through his juice box he found in the back of the fridge.

It took him three weeks to realize that Monty came from a home like his. He had a mom and dad, his younger sister Estela completing the family, but the facade slipped through the cracks when he sauntered through Bryce’s backyard on a sticky, sunny afternoon, the wheels of his dad’s pick up truck peeling away before he had a chance to close the gate.

“Your dad really is clumsy,” Bryce had noted, pulling open the fridge of the outdoor kitchen and grabbing a cold drink that served double purpose as an ice pack for his quickly swelling eye. “How come he always seems to run into you?”

Monty had shrugged, sinking down onto the wet concrete and shoving his feet into the deep end of the pool. “Just always in the wrong spot, I guess,” he replied, wiping his chin with his sleeve and moving the Coke off his eye momentarily to take a sip.

Justin sunk under the water, reemerging when his lungs ached for air and looking at the boy. Swinging his feet through the over-chlorinated water, Justin noticed his demeanor. The curl in his shoulders, the bags below his eyes. His skinny frame and drawn features. He looked like the boys on Justin’s block. The ones who scrounge for food. Who’s parents worked three jobs to make ends meet, even though it usually wasn’t enough. Who’s parents were maybe trying their best, but sometimes drank too much or lost their temper.

It wasn’t until Bryce convinced him to jump in the pool with them that Justin noticed the healing bruises along his collarbone and rib cage, the abrasions lining his knuckles and knees. Bryce was oblivious, too busy scaling the waterfall to jump off, Monty treading water just below.

Justin watched passively, following Bryce like a sheep when he teased him that he was too chicken to do it, and took his time pushing off the bottom of the deep end to catch his breath again. He waited until Bryce scampered into the house in search of Eleanor so she could make them food, wading through the water and over to where Monty worked on hoisting himself up onto a donut float.

“Your dad isn't clumsy, is he?” he asked, startling Monty as he slipped off the cheap plastic, head submerging under water. “He does it on purpose, doesn’t he?”

“Why do you care?” Monty bit back, turning to look at him. He kicks his legs, attempting once again to pull himself up onto the float. “You gonna tell on him or something? It doesn’t help. They always just give me back cause my mama is nice and begs them.”

Justin reached out and held the float still for him, allowing him to try again. “Not gonna tell,” he mumbled in reply, glancing back to Bryce’s main house as shadows portrayed through the windows, Eleanor’s silhouette floating across the kitchen as Bryce’s smaller frame followed behind. “My mama’s boyfriends hurt me, too,” he shrugs, holding his arm up to show the deep purple bruise lining the inside of his bicep.

Monty clumsily pulls himself up onto the float, spinning so his butt grazed the top of the water. “They drunk when they do it?”

“On drugs,” Justin replies, kicking his legs to the side of the pool to hang onto the side. “Your dad drinks?”

Monty nods, squinting as he stares up at the sky. “He usually passes out on the sofa every night with alcohol on the floor or the table.”

Justin nods. He leans down, pulling water between his lips before spitting it out like a fountain. “Bryce doesn’t get it. He thinks I can just tell someone or tell the guys to stop. He says that even though we’re only 9, we can do something about it.”

Monty hangs his arm lazily over the side, dragging his fingers over the water. “He’s wrong,” he replies, the float spinning him slowly. “You can’t tell anyone cause no one believes you. And then it just hurts more when they find out you’re a tattletale and they hurt you again.”

Justin nods. “At least you get it,” he smiles, sinking back down to the bottom of the pool until his lungs ache once more.


	2. Monty.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monty's home life is detailed, and his thoughts present day about Justin running away are pushed to the forefront.

Monty doesn’t remember the first time his dad hit him.

He must’ve been four or five, the mountain bike his mom found at a consignment shop in town abandoned in the driveway after playing with the neighborhood kids late the night before. His dad nearly ran over it with his truck, the car door slamming as he stalked back inside.

He had ripped Monty from bed, sleep thick in the corner of his eyes as his dad squeezed his arm so hard it left finger bruises along his olive skin and a handprint across his cheek through breakfast.

“Didn’t your mama tell you to stop leaving your shit laying around?” he had growled, stale alcohol on his breath as he pulled Monty close. “Start taking care of your shit.”

He pushed Monty back to the ground, where he landed with a thud against the worn hardwood floors, and stalked back out with the door slamming behind him.

He sat on the floor, dumbfounded, and looked up when his mother stood in the doorway, a sad smile on her face as she adjusted Estela on her hip. She studied his face for a moment, tears brimming in his wide eyes, and sighed.

“You know your daddy doesn’t like you to leave things out when you’re not playing with them,” she said quietly, brushing her fingers over Estela’s hair as she rested her head on her shoulder. “You need to take better care of your belongings, sweetheart. And that includes putting your bike away at the end of the night when you’re done with it. I can’t stop your dad from running it over if it’s in his way next time.”

She turned and walked back to the kitchen without a word. Jutting his bottom lip out, Monty pulled his worn Nikes onto his feet, stalking out to the front lawn where his bike had been tossed by his father, tiny fingers reattaching the chain and wheeling it back to the shed.

It only got worse from there. Leaving his bike out in the driveway had turned to getting in trouble with his dad over a bad day at baseball or not wanting to go to football practice. Fingerprint bruises turned into giant welts lining his ribs and hips, a bruise at the center of his back when his dad hit him from behind.

Bruises turned to broken bones, explained away by an especially rough football practice or an afternoon riding his bike through the pebble-filled trail trying out new moves. The doctors would look at him skeptically, peering over the chart as Monty stared at the linoleum tiles, cradling his arm protectively against his chest.

When he was younger, he used to have a false hope that someone would understand what was happening and would report it to social services. Teachers who cast second glances when he fell asleep on his desk in the middle of the lesson, coaches who saw the bruises that couldn’t have possibly come from a hard hit or a pitch gone wrong during baseball. All of them would give him this smile, one of sympathy and concern, and then turn their attention to a student who needed it more.

For a while, he hoped his mother would step in and say something. She wasn’t exempt from his abuse, either - Monty saw the way he grabbed her roughly or yelled at her when she did something he didn’t approve of - but she had a stable job, and even though Monty might have been young and didn’t quite understand money, he figured she had to have enough to at least get them out of there.

To save him and Estela before it got worse.

And then his dad came home from the bar drunk, tripping over Monty’s toy truck in the corner of the living room. Despite being out of the way, despite being just beside the toy box that held Estela’s Barbie dolls and princess castle she had been given as a gift, he still tripped over it.

He walked across the house, slamming Monty’s door open and pulling him out of bed, just as he had done so many times before. Monty had long since stopped putting up a fight, allowing his father to hit him until he grew tired, tossing him to the ground. “I’m throwing all your shit out tomorrow.”

Monty stared at the floor until his mom appeared crouched in front of him, handing him a wet paper towel for the cut above his eye. “We can leave, Mama,” he pleaded, blinking as his hand gripped her arm. “You, me and Estela. Just us. Where he can’t hurt us. And I can deliver papers or work with the guy down the street again! So we have money!”

His mom ignored him, focusing on dabbing the last of the blood dripping, placing a bandaid over it. “Get back to sleep, sweetheart. You have school in the morning.” She helped him stand, bringing him back to his bed and tucking him back underneath his monster truck throw blanket, leaving a soft kiss on the forehead. He watched her walk back out of the room, the door quietly clicking shut behind her.

So Monty stopped believing in someone coming to save him.

Becoming friends with Bryce Walker meant a place to sleep when he felt unsafe at home. It meant arriving to parties early and sitting with Eleanor in the kitchen, his legs dangling off the barstool as she let him steal swipes at the treats she had been making for everyone when they arrived. It meant getting to play with the latest toys and splashing in an inground pool until his fingers turned to prunes, the chlorine making his eyes bloodshot.

It also meant becoming friends with Justin Foley, who, while definitely not as subtle as Monty would have liked, understood his home life better than anyone.

Monty had been skeptical of Justin since their first meeting. Despite saying his mom’s boyfriends beat him, Monty can’t remember a time his injuries were ever like his. He’d come with bruises or cuts and scrapes, but never had the broken bones or the swelling that Monty’s dad seemed to be able to achieve. But Bryce never argued when Justin would talk about his mom’s latest boyfriend, just nodding along and tossing a free controller in his direction, which usually got him to shut up.

But then Justin hobbled back to the pool house at twelve years old, flip flops worn down and his arm hanging from his shoulder. Monty stared at the bruise forming around Justin’s eye, swelling slowly closing it. “Mom’s got a new boyfriend,” he smiled sheepishly, wincing as he took his place in the corner of the sofa.

“Damn, dude. This guy looks like he really puts on a beating,” Bryce commented as he crossed the pool house and grabbed ice from the freezer. “What’d you do to deserve it?”

Monty watches, caught between the two of them. Justin holds the ice pack in his hand, debating on where to put it, and then decides his eye.

“He was trying to load up the needle for the heroin. I got in his way and he freaked out,” Justin shrugged, tilting his head back. “It was my fault, really. I shouldn’t have even gone in the room. It’s not like I didn’t know what he was doing.”

Monty pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, sinking into the pillows.

He knew Justin probably wasn’t in the way. He knew this new guy probably made himself at home in Justin’s small apartment on the other side of town, began selling out of the living room, and didn’t like that Justin was there. Having kids around brought a risk to people looking to buy drugs.

Monty’s dad didn’t have to be a drug dealer for him to know that.

But instead of saying anything, he allowed Justin to lie, casting a sidewards glance in the direction of the boy on the opposite side of the sofa, and watched as he managed to look ashamed when he realized Monty caught onto his story.

Glancing around, he turned back to face him. “Just don’t tell Bryce, okay? He’ll just be horrible about it or tell me to tell my mom to kick him out, and you and I both know that’s not possible.”

Monty turned back to the TV, unpausing the game. “Yeah, whatever,” he nodded, clicking through the menu with ease as Justin reached for the spare controller on the coffee table.

**_______________________________**

The whispers that floated around the locker room the morning Justin ran away live in Monty’s mind constantly.

“Apparently he just up and left. Grabbed his bag and didn’t say a word to anyone. No one knows where he went or who he could be staying with, especially since he’s not with Bryce,” Luke commented, pulling a clean t-shirt over his head. “Insane, isn’t it? Right as everyone’s getting called to take the stand in the trial. You think he was called?”

“Probably,” another teammate nodded, opening up his locker. “Justin was on two of those tapes. He obviously knew something about Hannah, and they’re going to want him to testify against whatever happened.”

“Makes him look guilty that he ran,” another said, and Monty turned to face his locker, grabbing his phone from the pocket of his jeans. He listened to the chatter around him, people shifting conversations to chemistry tests and papers due at the end of the week as his fingers hover over Justin’s contact.

The last text was from nine months before. The night Hannah Baker died, when Monty had texted to ask if he heard. _Fuck. Seriously?_ Is all Justin replied back, and Monty hadn’t even bothered to answer.

Now, he types out a text that feels foreign, hitting send before thinking about it.

_You ran away? Everyone’s talking about it. Do you know how guilty this makes you look? You fucked this one up, Foley._

Justin reads it three hours later and doesn’t respond.

**_______________________________**

In Monty’s mind, Justin running away felt like a cry for help.

He understood that Justin had a horrible home life - and Meth Seth seemingly joining the family certainly hadn’t made things better.

He understood that the abuse and the broken bones and uncertain living circumstances had done a number on Justin, pushing him to the breaking point. He understood what it felt like to never feel safe in your home, to feel like falling into a deep sleep is too much of a risk.

But what he couldn’t understand was dealing with it by running away. By skipping town in the middle of the night, a decision that couldn’t mean a safer life for Justin. Monty knew what it felt like to not have a place to sleep at night, to cram into his Jeep or spend the night on the grimy floor at the hobo hotel, but he always went back home after a few days. He always holed up in his room, ignoring his father’s drunken nights and outbursts of rage for as long as possible.

Swiping a beer from the fridge, Monty disappears through the quiet kitchen and back down to his room, slipping out onto the roof where he busted through the screen. Facing the backyard of Mr. Rivera, who had always voiced his opinion on the de la Cruz’s, he pops the lid off easily and takes a swig, reveling in his father working late on a job on the other side of town.

He doesn’t hear Estela climb out behind him until she shuffles her way to sit beside him, offering the Doritos bag for him to take a handful. “I’m guessing you heard about Justin,” she says quietly, sticking her own hand into the bag when Monty retreats.

He shoves a handful into his mouth, shrugging. “It’s pretty cowardly of him to up and leave when he gets called to testify. Or to leave at all.”

Estela chews methodically, pushing her Converse into the base of the shingles. “Yeah, maybe,” she agrees, “but I think you should probably think about how he was feeling.”

Monty shakes his head, shoving his hand into the bag. “He was fucking scared that they’d charge him with something. He could’ve had Bryce make it all go away. All he had to do was defend Bryce in court and anything that happened to him would have gone away. But he ran instead.”

“Do you ever stop and think that maybe he finally drew the line at blindly defending Bryce just because Bryce gave him safety and security?” she asks, shaking her head when Monty glares at her. “I’m just saying, we know Bryce is a dick. Who knows if what he did to Jess or Hannah was true, or maybe he even did it to other girls? And maybe Justin had had enough of defending him. Maybe this is where he finally drew the line. He was dating Jess, after all.”

Monty straightens, twirling his beer between his fingers. A shadow of Mr. Rivera casts through his kitchen window, the light flicking off a moment later. “So you’re saying I should draw the line,” he says, looking back to his younger sister. “You’re saying I should drop Bryce, too.”

Estela shrugs, rolling up the edge of her jeans carefully. “I’m not telling you who to be friends with,” she says pointedly, sitting up. “I’m just saying that you understand Justin’s situation more than anyone. Maybe he finally had enough of his home life, and being called to testify against Bryce was the last straw.”

She’s quiet for a moment, brushing the Doritos dust off of her fingers. “You know what Dad would’ve done to you if you got called to testify,” she says quietly, staring straight back. “Justin could’ve felt like it was safer being on the streets than being at home with his mom. If they saw the court documents, if they saw why he was being called,” she shakes her head. “We don’t know, Monty, and I think it’s pretty shitty of you to be so cynical and judgmental of Justin when you understand his home life and situation better than anyone in our school.”

He watches as she goes to stand, reflexively reaching his arm out in case she slips. “Estela,” he says quietly, watching her turn back after she’s safely back in his room. “Do you really think he ran because his home life was that bad? And not just because he was called to testify?”

She shrugs, leaning back through the window. “I heard rumors at school that his mom’s with a drug addict who hates him and abuses him,” she says. “Seth or something? Not sure if they’re true, but if he’s as bad as people made him out to be, then yeah, I think maybe he thought he’d take his chances on the street.”

He watches her leave the window partly open, disappearing into his room and then back down the hall. Monty stares at Mr. Rivera's lights upstairs, turning on and off as he works through the house before he returns back downstairs.

Monty waits until long after the sun casts behind the trees up over the horizon, a purplish hue illuminating the last of the blue sky, and then returns back inside, locking the window behind him.

Reaching for his phone on his bedside table, he texts Justin once more.

_I don’t know where the fuck you are or when you’re coming home, but I hope you’re safe._

**_______________________________**

In the three months since Justin had left Evergreen, Monty had floated between hanging out with Bryce too often and then distancing himself for weeks at a time. Estela’s words echoed through his mind, hazy memories of drunken nights and Bryce dancing with girls appearing as flashbacks.

Monty always knew Bryce wasn’t a good person. He knew he manipulated people to get what he wanted. He had money, he was charming, and most of the time people were too excited about the unlimited alcohol at a party to realize how detrimental he really was for anyone who happened to know him.

It really shouldn’t have been a surprise to see Bryce not care either way about Justin. He would laugh when it came up, tossing a beer in Monty’s direction. “Who the fuck cares, Monty?” he’d ask, leaning back against the counter in the pool house. “Life is the same as it was before Justin left, and if he really thought his life would be better living on the streets, then we shouldn’t worry about him. It’s been months now, clearly he’s not going to come back. Probably too stubborn.”

Monty shrugs. “Didn’t you think he’d be back by now though?” he asks, reaching for the bottle opener to pop the lid off. “I mean, I think we all thought this was just some attention stunt. And now it’s been months and no one has heard from him.”

Bryce turns back, rifling through the drawers until he finds a baggie of pills. “You worried about him or something?” he asks, beginning to crush the pills. “Justy can manage just fine on his own. Probably found someone to hook up with or something. And if he hasn’t, he can find his way home like a lost puppy.”

Monty shrugs, turning back to flip through the channels.

Bryce snorts the pills, dabbing just underneath his nostrils. “He knew he had a place to stay here in the outhouse if Meth Seth was really being that horrible,” he reminds Monty, grabbing the chips from the cabinet and joining him on the sofa. “If he chooses to run instead of staying in here, then I’m not going to worry about him.”

Monty nods, tossing the remote in Bryce’s direction and tipping his head back as he drinks his beer.

If Bryce wasn’t going to worry about it, then Monty wouldn’t bring it up anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you guys for reading and commenting!
> 
> next chapter will be up Monday, and will be Justin centric :)


	3. Justin.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin's return from Oakland, time in juvie, and his adjustment to living with the Jensens

The back seat of Tony Padilla’s Mustang is in immaculate condition, shiny leather and shampooed carpets.

Justin feels out of place crammed in the back, one hand over his stomach and the other resting protectively over his duffel bag, knuckles itching as Tony merges back onto the freeway, Clay Jensen managing directions on the phone in his hand. He spent nearly five months sleeping in grimy alleyways and overcrowded homeless shelters, but never felt more uncomfortable than he did as he watched the cars pass and Oakland become a speck in the distance from the back seat of Tony Padilla’s vintage car he cared so much about.

When Justin thought about returning to Evergreen in search of a safe place to land, he always assumed he would’ve done something in return for money for a bus ticket. He would’ve crammed his bag between his legs in the cramped seat of a Greyhound, wandered back to his mom or maybe even Bryce’s in search of a warm shower and a bed that wasn’t on an abandoned mattress or a dry square of concrete that he deemed safe enough to at least get a half decent night's sleep.

“Do you have somewhere we can take you?” Tony asks, peering through the rearview mirror. “Your mom still around?”

Justin sinks back. “I don’t know,” he shakes his head. “You can just drop me off in town. I’ll figure it out from there.”

The car is silent for a moment, Justin watching as Clay rolls his eyes. “We’ll just take him to my house,” he announces, shifting in the seat.

“The fuck, Jensen?” he blurts out, twisting the strap of his bag between his fingers. “After everything I’ve said to you, you’re going to let me stay at your house?”

Clay turns long enough to look at him, and then turns back. “We need you to testify for Jessica. You need a place to stay, you can’t stay on the streets in Evergreen,” he says quickly, pointing towards a sign for Tony to follow. “You can stay in my room and get clean, and then you can testify for Jess. We’ll figure out the rest after.”

There’s a moment where Justin thinks about arguing. The last place he thought he’d end up was at Clay Jensen’s house when he returned back to Evergreen. Armed with a determination to save Hannah and make sure the trial goes in her favor, Clay is clearly willing to do anything.

He wilts, pressing his head against the door. “Thanks,” he replies weakly, and doesn’t talk the rest of the drive back.

**_______________________________**

Once they got over the initial shock of their son hiding a boy in his bedroom, Matt and Lainie Jensen are nice and more accommodating than Justin could’ve ever asked for.

Lainie apologizes for the lack of an extra bed, bringing him extra quilts and sheets to put on the sofa in Clay’s room to make up for it. Matt makes elaborate breakfasts every morning, indulging in the latest sports news from the newspaper with Justin, which Justin thinks is nice considering he doesn’t seem to be that into the football scores or basketball season previews.

Lainie spends her evenings helping him prepare for the legal aspect of the trial. As he sits at their dining room table hunched over himself, fingers tapping against the worn hardwood, he asks what will happen when he admits under oath that Bryce raped Jessica and that he was there when it happened, even if he was on the other side of the door.

Lainie’s face softens, folding her hands together on the paperwork she had laid out between them. Her expression is empathetic, miles away from anything he ever remembers seeing on his mother’s face, as she speaks to him. “There could be legal repercussions for you, Justin,” she says carefully, pausing. “I think it’s admirable what you’re doing, and I’m sure Jessica will be thankful that you’re corroborating her story, but I don’t want you to think that this couldn’t have consequences for you.”

Blowing out a breath, Justin nods quickly. “No, I know,” he says, swallowing roughly. “I just can’t sit back and let Bryce have a handle on me anymore. I want to do right by Jess, I want to make it better. And if that means taking myself down, at least it’ll get Jess closer to the closure she needs to feel better.”

Smiling, Lainie pulls back and picks up her pen. “I think that’s a very brave thing to do, Justin,” she says, eyeing him carefully. “And you fully understand that they could arrest you for what you say about that night, yes?”

Justin nods once. “I understand,” he says. “Are they going to bring up how I was, or I guess am, an addict?” he asks quietly, shifting the conversation and casting his eyes down to the table.

He can see Lainie sit up straighter beside him, crossing her legs under the table. “I would hope they would leave that separate, your personal habits have nothing to do with this case, but lawyers can be ruthless. Anything they know, they may bring up. Even if it seems irrelevant.”

“Everyone knows I’m an addict,” he says, smiling sadly as he shakes his head. “And Bryce… if he knows I’m going to testify against him, he’s going to tell his team to use it against me. I just wanted to be prepared.”

“I’ll tell Dennis to expect to object to any questions about your drug use, hopefully the judge will take our side and not see the relevance.” Waiting a beat, Lainie reaches her hand out. “How have you been doing? I know Clay helped you detox, but how are you feeling? Do you need more help? Maybe we could look into getting you to some meetings, or a doctor who specializes in addiction.”

Justin hunches over, shaking his head. “I’m feeling better, and I’m doing okay,” he promises, hoping it sounds truthful. “I really can’t ask you to do anything more. I’m just thankful for you guys letting me stay here. I promise after the trial I’ll go back to my mom’s or stay somewhere else.”

Lainie rests her hand on his forearm. “Justin, you being here is not an imposition,” she reminds him gently. “You are welcome here as long as you need. I hope you know that.” Pausing, she takes a moment to collect herself. “In the event that you find yourself arrested after the trial, I want you to call me. I will help you every step of the way, okay?” she smiles, handing him her card, watching him push it into the pocket of his jeans.

“Thank you,” he replies gently, thankful when Lainie continues to prepare him for the trial.

**_______________________________**

When he takes the stand the following morning, he focuses on his answers as Lainie’s firm reassurances float through his mind. His hands shake and his legs feel like jelly when he leaves the stand, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget Lainie’s face as the cops guided him down the stairs of the courthouse and into the backseat of a patrol car, handcuffs digging into his bony wrists.

Lainie meets him an hour later with a kind smile and a promise that they were doing everything they could to have him released soon. “I’m going to work with the prosecutors first thing tomorrow. I’m sorry I can’t get you out of here tonight,” she says softly, watching Justin shake his head.

“It’s okay, really,” he replies. “Are you sure you have time to help me, too? I’m sure you have plenty of other cases that need you.”

Lainie smiles kindly. “Your case is at the top of my list. You deserve better, Justin, and we’re going to help.”

Justin shifts uncomfortably, nodding. “Okay.”

“They’ll transfer you tonight, but I’ll come see you each week until you’re released. Does that sound good?”

“Yeah,” Justin nods. “But if you’re busy, it’s okay if you can’t make it.”

Lainie reaches out, resting her hand on his. “Let me help, Justin. Let me get you out of here.”

Justin nods, relaxing his arm in her touch. “Okay, thank you,” he whispers, hoping she knows how much he means it.

**_______________________________**

In the six weeks Justin spent in juvenile detention, he had exactly two visitors.

Lainie, who stopped by twice a week, like clockwork, even when she had nothing to say. She would sit with him for as long as he wanted, discussing any updates, promising him that they were working hard to find his mother so he could be released, and answering any questions he had.

Each week, he’d ask her if they heard from his mom. Each time, Lainie would glance down at the table between them and sigh. “I’m sorry, Justin,” she’d reply, which said more than any other words could. “I promise you we’re trying everything. Dennis and I are working to have you out of here as soon as possible, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” he nodded out of reflex, chewing on his lip. “Thank you, really.”

Monty was the only other person who’d come to visit, sitting a table in the back corner, eyes looking around anxiously.

“Why are you here?” Justin asks, sinking down in a chair on the opposite side of the table. “How did you know when visiting hours were?”

Monty smirks, picking at a thread on the edge of his varsity jacket. “I’ve been in here before, Justin,” he reminds him, looking back. “Just wanted to see if you needed anything. Or how you were doing or whatever.”

Justin furrows his brow, casting a downward glance. “Why do you care?”

Shrugging uncomfortably, Monty shifts. “I know you don’t have anyone else,” he says gently. “And I figured after everything, Bryce wouldn’t come see you.”

“Is Bryce… he’s out, isn’t he?”

Monty nods. “His parents bailed him out,” he replies quietly, eyes shifting to look at the tables beside them. “He still has to go to trial since they took Jess’ case on, but he’s not still in jail from the day you both got arrested.”

“Figures,” Justin nods, trying not to deflate. He assumed Bryce’s parents would bail him out - it hardly helped their reputation to have a son in juvenile detention. But when Justin hadn’t heard, and Bryce obviously hadn’t contacted him, a small part of him had hope that Bryce was left to sit in jail, punished for what he did.

An awkward silence passes between them. Monty looks around, stiffens, and then turns back to Justin. “How did you just like… drop Bryce as a friend?” he asks, leaning forward.

Justin cocks his head, an amused smile passing across his face. “I ran away, Monty,” he smirks. “And when I came back, I testified against him and said that he raped Jess. I think that’s a pretty good way to lose him as a friend.”

Monty’s lips quirk and, bowing his head, he blows out a breath. “I mean like, how did you just do it?” he rephrases. “You know if things were so horrible at home, Bryce would’ve let you crash in the pool house for as long as you needed. Or you could’ve stayed at the hobo hotel for a few days until things settled down.”

Justin nods, taking a moment. “I guess I just figured that the only way things were going to change was if I was the one to stop them,” he says quietly. “Bryce has all the power in that relationship, and he knows it. He’s not going to walk away from anyone who he thinks is less than him.”

Monty nods. “So it’s going to have to be me that drops him.”

Justin readjusts, glancing at the clock. “Clearly I’m not the person to tell you what to do,” Justin begins, gesturing around the room. “But if you want to drop him, then do it.”

“Bryce might be rich. He might have a pool house and stability and is good for food or a place to crash when things are bad at home, but he’s just as abusive as anything we’ve gone through, just not in the same way,” Justin continues. “You’re safer getting food at school and bumming off some of the guys on the football team. At least they don’t belittle you or make you feel worse for a situation you can’t control.”

Monty nods, chewing on the corner of his lip. “I should probably go,” he announces, standing up abruptly. Justin follows, looking at him. “Take care of yourself in here. Hopefully you’ll be out soon.”

Justin mumbles a thanks as Monty walks away, back through a gate with a guard. The sentiment is there, flippant and dismissive if not accompanied by an edge of care laced underneath the words, and it leaves a vacant hole in Justin’s chest for the rest of the afternoon.

**_______________________________**

Four weeks into his time in juvenile detention, with no signs of his mother to be able to sign the forms for his release, Lainie visits with a smile on her face.

“I spoke with Matt at length over the last week regarding your case and how you’ve been in here far longer than you’ve deserved,” she begins, setting her purse down between her feet. “He wished he could be here today, but I told him I wasn’t sure if you were ready to see anyone else. So, if you’d like, Matt and I would like to sign the papers for emergency custody so we can have you released into our care.”

Justin blinks, waiting for her to continue. Her words fly through his mind, cluttering his thoughts as he clears his throat. “I - you what?” he asks, shaking his head. “I couldn’t ask you to do that. You’ve already done so much for me.”

“Let us help you, Justin,” she says quietly, resting her hand on his. “If I’m being perfectly honest, I don’t want you back in your mother’s custody if she’s this negligent after numerous attempts to tell her that you needed her signature to be released from here,” she says softly. “It’s up to you, of course, but we all would love to welcome you back into our home. Including Clay.”

Blinking, Justin brings his hand up to wipe under his eyes. “Are you sure? You’re not just saying this?”

“Absolutely not, sweetheart,” Lainie smiles. “If you agree, I will file the paperwork today. It’ll take some time to go through, a few weeks at most, and then you can be released into our care.”

Justin nods, looking up with wet eyes and a smile he can’t remove from his face. “Yeah, of course. Thank you,” he says, flipping his hand over and taking hers, squeezing. “You don’t know how much this means to me.”

Lainie smiles, squeezing back. “Just hang on a little while longer, Justin,” she says carefully, emotion evident behind her own eyes. “I promise we’ll have you out of here soon.”

**_______________________________**

Following his release from juvenile detention, where routines were rigid and came with a timeline, Justin took his time adjusting back to living with the Jensens.

They offered to adopt him the day he was released, a proposal he responded to with a reminder that he was fucked up. After some reassurance, Justin agreed, tears brimming at the corner of his eyes as he crossed his arms over his chest in the middle of Monet’s. They returned back home to a pot roast and more vegetables than Justin had eaten in months, Matt remembering that it was his favorite meal in the few short weeks he stayed with them.

Days adjusting back with the Jensens turned into weeks. Moments where he usually sat quiet and reserved among conversations turned into him contributing, talking about his day at school or updates on scheduling summer school to make up for the time he missed while away.

Adoption proceedings were discussed in the evening, Justin sitting in the dining room helping Lainie fill out forms with any information he knew or answering questions she had. Clay would sit with them sometimes, asking harmless questions when they arose, but mostly just sat back and did his homework to the side.

Clay saved his deeper questions for later in the evening, long after they shut the lights off in their bedroom, the street lamp outside casting a shadow against the door.

“You were friends with Bryce and Monty,” he says one night, twisting so he’s staring at the ceiling. “Monty’s not rich though, right? So what made you guys both want to be with Bryce? And how did you even all become friends anyway?”

Beside him, curled up on the sofa that would soon be replaced by a bed, Justin sighs. “It’s not my place to talk about what Monty goes through at home,” he begins carefully. “But Bryce had money and stability, and we all became friends when we were little because Bryce realized it was easy to have control over us. We didn’t realize how manipulating he was until we were older, and then I guess we just never stopped him when we did understand.”

Clay nods, shifting under the sheets. “Do you miss him? Or that friend group?”

Laughing, Justin turns and stares out the window, watching the older woman across the street shut her bedroom light off behind her blinds. “No,” he says easily, looking over to Clay. “Everything Bryce gave me, I get here with you guys. I don’t - I should’ve dropped him a long time ago. I was just glad I was able to when I did.”

Clay hums in agreement, drifting off to sleep without pressing the discussion further.

**_______________________________**

There’s a flight of steps down by the pier overlooking the bay that Justin used to frequent before running away, often meeting dealers or friends there to drink late into the evening. He texted Zach to meet him there, sitting down on the steep steps and picking at chipped concrete until he arrived.

“You never ask to see me so formally,” he teases, nudging Justin’s shoulder. The sun shines high above them, a sign of summer approaching, and Justin sucks in a breath. “You’re still doing okay, right? Things at the Jensens are going well?”

“Yeah, man,” Justin nods, smiling. “Things are like… better than they’ve ever been.”

“Good,” Zach nods. “So then what was this super urgent reason why you wanted me to meet you here?”

Justin stares out at the bay for a moment, watching a boat dock and a little kid jump off with his mother, and then hides his smile. “They’re going to adopt me,” he announces, the fluttering in his chest appearing once more as he says the news for the first time out loud. “They already started all the paperwork, met with lawyers and scheduled the social worker visits that are needed. But like, I’m getting a family, Zach.”

“Justin,” Zach beams, nudging his arm with his knee. “What the fuck, that’s amazing news.”

“I know,” he smiles, turning to look at him. “All those years with my mom, all those years wondering how I’d ever get out of that life, and I finally got a break.”

Zach kneads his hands into Justin’s shoulders, squeezing. “You were always going to get out of there. I was always going to help you, you know,” he reminds him. “But the Jensens are amazing and they love you so much, and now they’re just making it official.”

He allows Zach’s words to sink in, a fleeting moment of unbridled joy filling his mind. “I just worry that maybe it’ll all come crashing down. You know, like it always does.”

Zach pauses, retracting his hands. “What? Like the adoption falling through?”

Justin pushes a pebble across the concrete. “Or them deciding not to go through with it,” he shrugs.

Laughing, Zach ruffles Justin’s hair. “The Jensens would never do that to you, you know that?” he reminds him. “Justin, they love you. They clearly love having you as a son, and they would never want to get your hopes up like this just to take it all back.”

“Yeah, but I’m like, really fucked up.”

“They already know you’re a recovering addict, they know that you’ve had a really hard life. But they also know that you’re hilarious and kind and care for people so much. They love you for everything that you are, Justin, and anything they find out now isn’t going to change their minds.”

Sinking back, Justin nods. He watches a larger boat leave the dock, a sailboat crossing through the waves, and the traffic pick up over the bridge. “You’re right,” he nods, smiling as he untenses his shoulders.

Turning back to look at Zach, the smile on his face gets wider. “I’m getting adopted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you guys for reading/commenting! 
> 
> the final chapter will be from Monty's POV, and will tie up any loose ends we have in this fic :) i'll post it on Wednesday
> 
> see you then! :)


	4. Monty.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monty deals with the knowledge of Justin's adoption, and the two share a moment

The locker room before basketball practice is often filled with mindless chatter, discussions of parties and rumors flying through the halls between classes. Monty’s always been able to block it out, focusing on stretching his muscles or adjusting his shirt to hide the bruise lining his ribs from the night before, but Luke’s words cut through the chaos as he brushes by Monty’s legs on his way out to the gym.

“Did you hear Foley’s getting adopted by the Jensens?”

Monty’s fingers still halfway through lacing up his shoes, the words reverberating against the lockers. Luke laughs as Zach shoves his shoulder.

“It’s the best thing that could happen to him, you dick,” Zach defends, and Monty notices the way Zach’s eyes glance back at him before following the team out to the gym.

Monty waits until the locker room is silent, standing and straightening his t-shirt before punching the lockers, his knuckles cracking and bleeding.

He misses two free throws before their coach notices his injury, sending him to the trainer and ending his practice early.

**_________________________________________**

Monty waits until the rumbling of his dad’s pickup truck peels out of the driveway before pulling himself out of bed to get ready for the day. Glancing in the mirror, he notices the purple bruise forming around his ribs, a product of a drunken fight with his dad when he returned home from the bar just before midnight.

He jumps at the soft knock on the door, Estela poking her head in. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” she smiles, stepping in. “I’m guessing the basketball team filled you in on Justin Foley getting adopted?” she asks, watching him. “I guess Clay Jensen’s family are going to adopt him since his mom isn’t really around.”

“Oh, yeah?” Monty asks, turning back to grab a shirt from his closet. “Good for him. Glad he’s getting out of his whole family situation.”

Estela furrows her eyebrows. “I thought you’d be happy to know he’s going to be away from the abuse,” she offers, staring at his bare rib cage. “Is that from last night? I heard you and Dad when he got home.”

He tugs the t-shirt over his head, sighing. “Yes, it’s from last night.”

“Did you put ice on it?”

“No.”

“Do you want to now? Or maybe take some -”

“Estela,” Monty sighs, blowing out a breath. “Just stop, okay? I’m fine, it’s fine.”

Estela relents, nodding. “Monty?” she says carefully, watching her brother glance over. “Do you ever think about what would’ve happened if they took us away when we were little and they never gave us back?” she asks quietly, picking at her chipped nail polish. “What if they did something about it? Even though I was never hurt, your injuries were more than enough to take us both.”

Monty sits back down on his bed, pulling on clean socks. “They probably would’ve separated us, Stel. Given us to different families,” he sighs, chewing on the corner of his lip. Looking back to his sister, who stands in his room looking 5 all over again, he suppresses the disappointed look on his face. “As horrible as Dad can be, and as much as I wish you didn’t have to see or hear what happens, we’re better off here together. Because then at least I know you’re safe. At least I know you’re here and no one is hurting you. And we both know Mom is okay.”

A smile quirks at the corner of her lips. “I love you, Monty,” she whispers, walking over and sitting down beside him, leaning against his side. “I’m sorry that Dad’s so terrible to you.”

“I love you, too, Stel,” he smiles, pulling her against him, cheek resting on her head.

**_________________________________________**

For the first few days after the adoption announcement, Monty doesn’t say anything to Justin.

It’s more that he doesn’t quite know what to say than not wanting to say anything. He’s just not sure he can think of the words to say to someone so similar to him, getting out of the situation that has held him back for so long.

His conversations with Bryce are few and far between, which he thinks should feel more gratifying than it does. Nights he would spend in the comfort of Bryce’s pool house have turned into nights spent crammed in the back seat of his Jeep or at the hobo hotel, trading the comfort and security of a roof over his head for a half decent night sleep and a reprieve from his father’s drunken rage directed at him.

He manages to steer clear of Bryce most days, and suppresses a sigh when he shows up at the basketball court at the elementary school.

“Think you’re just gonna stop being friends with me like Justy did?” he calls, walking towards him slowly and leaning against the base of the hoop.

Monty carelessly tosses a three pointer, jogging up to grab the ball. “It’s not like we see each other anymore,” he shrugs, casting a glance to Bryce as he backs up to the free throw line. “You’ve got your new friends at Hillcrest.”

Bryce laughs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Hillcrest sucks,” he says simply. “None of those guys want to be my friend. They know everything about the trial. About Hannah, and Jess, and any other bullshit that came out in court.”

The basketball hits the rim, careening in the opposite direction. Monty jogs to grab it, dribbling consistently on the concrete. “Were you expecting something different?” he asks incredulously, tossing the ball with ease from the free throw line once more.

“No one seemed to care when I was at Liberty,” Bryce responds. He stands straighter, readjusting his new Hillcrest jacket.

Monty holds the ball in his palms, smirking as he shakes his head. “Hillcrest is a bunch of rich fucks who don’t want a bad reputation at their school,” he says, dribbling harder before lobbing the ball towards the net from beyond the three-point line. “And people did give a shit about what you did at Liberty. Did you forget about Jess’ club and Jensen’s personal mission to take you down? Did you forget about the tape Hannah left about you, or the tape that you made admitting to all of it that got leaked?”

Bryce stares at him, readjusting his glasses. “I heard your sister is part of Jess’ little club,” he replies, stepping forward. “Pretty ironic that she joined a club that was started because of a guy who used to save her brother from abuse in her own house.”

Monty retrieves the ball, slotting it underneath his arm. “What are you trying to get at, Bryce?” he asks, stepping towards him. “Estela joined a club that Jess started to hold people accountable. I’m not fucking perfect, but at least I didn’t do anything nearly as horrible as you did. And if Estela wants to be part of the change, who is she hurting?”

Bryce closes the gap between them, laughing. “You and Justy are the same,” he says quietly, staring directly at Monty. “Good for being friends with me when you need a place to stay or escape the abuse you two can’t seem to get out of, but the second you don’t need me anymore or my name doesn’t have the reputation it once did, the two of you are suddenly fine. You suddenly don't need me to save you.”

Monty laughs, adjusting the ball. “We’re better off without you, Bryce,” he replies quietly. “Yeah, you gave us a place to stay and food when we needed it, but it always came at a price. You were always real quick to remind us that we couldn’t have any of that on our own. That we were lucky to have someone like you in our lives.”

He turns on his heels, walking back to the opposite side of the court.

“Justin might not need me anymore,” Bryce calls, taking a step forward as Monty stops walking. “Getting fucking adopted, better than anything you could do. You still need me, Monty, and you’ll regret burning this bridge in a few days when your dad goes on a bender and beats the shit out of you when he gets home.”

Turning sideways, Monty raises his eyebrows. “I’d rather take any beating from my dad and have to sleep in my car then have to be associated with you again.”

He turns and lobs the ball at the far basket just below center court, jogging faster to catch up to the ball when it misses and takes off in the opposite direction.

When he turns back, Bryce is gone, his car turning left out of the parking lot.

**_________________________________________**

There’s an open area at the base of the steps by the pier that Monty, Bryce and Justin first discovered when they were thirteen. Their secret meeting place had turned into where they got high and polished off six packs Bryce would bring with him, the three of them hanging out well into the evening.

There were nights they would scamper behind the bushes and hide from cops or passerbys, choked laughter and covered mouths lasting only until the footsteps trailed long into the distance.

Monty doesn’t know why he asked Justin to meet him there. He’d arrived early, two joints in his back pocket and his hands sweating as he waited for Justin to join him, hoping he didn’t make the wrong decision.

When Justin arrives, a bright smile and two beers hidden in his varsity jacket, he visibly relaxes.

“Brought you a joint,” he announces awkwardly, producing a lighter and the two joints from his back pocket. “Wasn’t sure if you were like, totally clean or whatever.”

Justin sits down in the dead grass, stretching out his legs and sighing. “Sobriety is like, really fucking hard,” he admits, unscrewing the lids from the beers and handing Monty one in exchange for the joint. “I’m working on it, but it’s not going well.”

Monty leans over and lights his joint, then leans back on his hands and takes a drag of his own. “Jensen know you’re still an addict?”

“He knows I’m trying to get clean again,” he admits. “He promised he wouldn’t tell his parents, but I figured maybe I should just be honest with them and pray they don’t kick me out or stop the adoption or whatever.”

Monty nods, holding the joint delicately between his fingers. “Thought he got you clean?”

“He did,” Justin nods. “And then I got hold of heroin and relapsed. Not that hard to figure out, Monty.”

“Tell me you’re not shooting it,” Monty says, taking a swig of his beer, tipping his head back to look at the clouds. When Justin doesn’t answer, Monty groans. “Jesus, Foley. That could kill you.”

Justin nods, reaching for his beer at his side. “I know. I’m - I’m trying to get better. To not shoot up that often. Stick to weed or oxy when I need the high.”

“You need to kick the heroin. Fast,” he replies, taking another drag of the joint. “Heard you’re getting adopted. How’s that going?”

Justin smiles, staring at a boat coming towards the pier. “Really weird,” he admits. “Even when we stayed at Bryce’s, it never really felt like we had that family love or connection. But with the Jensens -” he stops himself short, glancing uneasily towards Monty.

Monty smirks, shaking his head as he reaches for his beer. “You don’t have to not talk about it because of me,” he replies around the bottle. “I asked you, didn’t I?”

Justin nods. “They’re just… they know I’m an addict with all these really fucked up issues, and they still want to adopt me. They still want to help me. They want me to be their kid.” He takes a drag of the joint. “I guess I just never thought someone could look at someone like me and see something good. See something worthy of saving.”

Monty nods, watching the boats sail in and out from the pier, traffic pick up and slow down. “Sometimes I think about what I would’ve been like if someone took me and Estela away. Put us in foster care, got us parents who cared,” he says quietly. “I wouldn’t have wanted to be separated from Estela, but the thought of life not controlled by my dad? I think maybe I would’ve been a better person.”

“We both would’ve been better people without our home lives,” Justin replies, sighing. “But we can try to be better now. To wrong all the horrible things that we did.”

Monty tips his head back, watching the clouds pass by once more. “Yeah, we can,” he agrees, finishing off the last of his beer. “I’m happy for you, Justy.”

“Thanks,” Justin replies quietly, the comfortable silence returning once more.

**_________________________________________**

Monty watches Justin gain the weight back he lost in juvie. He watches his clothes go from Bryce hand-me-downs and whatever they could find at the thrift store in town to sweatshirts and jeans that actually fit.

He watches the bruises fade from Justin’s body, the bags under his eyes slowly dissipate.

He watches the Jensens attend every basketball game, meeting Justin by the locker room after. They always shower him with love and appreciation, even after a loss. Monty sits in his car in the parking lot watching Justin and Clay walk back to Clay’s car, their laughter and teasing heard until their doors close.

He goes home to a drunk father and a passive mother. Beer bottles are thrown, punches are still landed to exposed skin. He lets Estela pull him into the bathroom long after their father passed out on the couch and their mother went to bed, using the antiseptic she hid at the back of the cabinet to clean his cuts with a gentle touch and quiet apologies when he would flinch.

“You have to stop pushing back sometimes, Monty,” Estela whispers, apologies stuck under her breath when Monty would hiss in pain. “He’s looking for a fight, and he knows that you’re just as hot-tempered as him.”

Monty chews on his lip, leg shaking. “Don’t want him to touch you.”

“Don’t worry about me,” she replies easily, looking up at him as she grabbed a bandage. “I stay out of the way. He won’t touch me.”

Monty shakes his head. “I always worry about you,” he whispers, ducking his head and avoiding her gaze. “He can’t… when I’m not here, what’s going to happen? If I’m not here to indulge his want and need to fight, what is he going to do?”

“Drink more until he passes out,” Estela answers, standing up to wash her hands. “He doesn’t touch me, Monty. He’s never even attempted to touch me or hurt me the way he hurts you. Not when you’ve slept at Bryce’s or Charlie’s, or when you don’t come home for a few nights after a big fight. And he won’t when you’re gone, either. I don’t want you to feel like you have to stay here to protect me. You deserve to get out.”

Monty shrugs, standing up and flexing his fingers. “I’m always going to want to protect you. But I know you can protect yourself,” he smiles, kissing the top of her head. “I think it’s me that needs you more than you need me.”

“I think you’re right,” she whispers, wrapping her arms around his middle. They stand like that in the small bathroom for a moment, Monty’s chin resting on her head.

He’d do anything to protect her, he knows that. He just wishes it was enough.

He watches his friend’s life get better while he is stuck in time, an endless circle of abuse and neglect he doesn’t think he’ll ever escape.

**_________________________________________**

Justin doesn’t formally announce his adoption, instead returning to school for basketball practice in a shirt and tie, a glowing smile on his face that says more than any words could. He’s teased by the team as he changes into gym shorts and a t-shirt, and Monty watches from afar, hating that he’s jealous over something he never thought he’d get for himself anyway.

He doesn’t say anything to Justin for weeks, a congratulatory response on the tip of his tongue each time they pass each other in the locker room. He tries to avoid being alone with Justin altogether, figuring it’s the best way things won’t feel awkward if he doesn’t congratulate him or, at the very least, say something about the adoption.

But after arriving at school early on a Saturday for practice, desperate to get out of the house before his dad woke up, Justin arrives early as well. He drops his bag on the bleachers, tightens his laces, and grabs a ball from the rack.

“Everything okay?” Justin asks after a few minutes of quiet, but the words convey more than what he said and they hang in the balance for a moment, tense and awkward between them.

“Needed to get out of the house early,” Monty replies quietly, dribbling back past the free throw line. “My dad came home last night basically blacked out. Threatened me, said it would be worse than ever. I figured it was better to just steer clear of him for the time being.”

Justin nods, groaning when his shot bounces off the backboard and into the corner.

“What are you doing here so early?” Monty asks after a minute, staring at him with a tilted gaze. “Things can’t be bad for you at home now, can they?”

Justin smiles. “They’re not like they were,” he says, tossing the ball effortlessly. “But it feels wrong. Being there, having rules and curfew and like, people caring about me.” He shakes his head. “It’s just different. It feels wrong to me. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“It’s good, but you feel bad complaining about it,” Monty smirks, tossing the ball and hitting Justin’s in mid-air. “That makes sense.”

Justin smiles, running to retrieve his ball. The two shoot baskets for a while, basking in the quiet time before the rest of the team arrives. Monty watches Justin for a while, steals his ball to annoy him and he steals it back with a laugh, and then blows out a breath when they move to take turns practicing free throws.

“I used to wonder how bad the abuse really was at your place,” Monty announces when Justin walks to stand behind him. “You just… I know sometimes you had bruises or broken bones or whatever. But it never felt like it was nearly as bad or as often as my dad would beat me.”

“It probably wasn’t,” Justin smiles, stepping up to the free throw line. “My mom wasn’t with abusive guys all the time. She had some good boyfriends, ones that didn’t really give a fuck about me and just left me alone. So no, I wasn’t always hurt like you were, at least not consistently.”

Justin waits a beat, watching as Monty steps forward to grab his ball, and then speaks again. “Sometimes the abuse was sexual for me, too,” he says just above a whisper, thumbs tracing the pattern of the basketball. He lines up, shooting. “So even if there was no physical evidence, it was still happening.”

Monty swallows the sick feeling in his stomach, nodding. “It was shitty of me to compare our trauma anyway. I shouldn’t have… we went through similar stuff. I should’ve just been grateful I had a friend who didn’t feel the need to ask questions.”

“I get it,” Justin nods. He watches Monty make his free throw, stepping forward. “We were young, and you probably thought that I was trying to make my problems seem bigger to grab more attention from Bryce.” He tosses his free throw up, stepping back and watching. “You were probably right sometimes. I’m sure I did exaggerate so Bryce would listen to me more. But most of the time I wasn’t lying. Most of the time I wasn’t just saying things were bad so I could be Bryce’s main guy instead of you.”

“I know,” Monty nods. He grabs his ball, walking back towards the bleachers. Justin follows, pulling his water bottle out of his bag and taking a sip.

He sits beside Monty, ball between his legs, and sighs. “I know things aren’t the same anymore, but if you ever need anything, you know you can come to me, right?” Justin says quietly. “Even if it’s a place to stay for a few nights. Matt and Lainie are cool, they’d understand.”

“And Jensen?” Monty asks, cocking his head to the side with a wry smile.

Justin smirks, shaking his head. “He’d live,” he decides after a moment, shrugging. He lets the moment pass between them, and then turns to stare at the court. “I know a lot of shit has happened between us. I know that we’re so far from where we were, but maybe we could still be friends? Or friendly, at least.”

Monty allows the words to sink in, smiling as he takes another sip of water. “Yeah, I think we could still be friends,” he says after a moment, smiling.

He watches Justin breathe a sigh of relief, a few other guys from the team floating in, beginning to stretch and toss baskets together before warmups.

They join their teammates on the court, and when the two are placed on opposing teams for the scrimmage and take jabs at each other jockeying for the ball, they share a bright smile and a laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you guys so much for reading this fic! it was fun to write characters i wouldn't normally write :) 
> 
> hope you enjoyed this as much as i did writing it! <3

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to [de_la_cruz87](https://archiveofourown.org/users/de_la_cruz87/pseuds/de_la_cruz87) for the encouragement to write this/post it, and for being my beta for all chapters :) 
> 
> i've been wanting to stretch out of my comfort zone and write characters who i didn't normally write, and this felt like a good place to start!
> 
> chapters will alternate between Monty and Justin's POV and detail their own upbringings and how they're intertwined, and will be up every few days.
> 
> title of the fic comes from Safe Place by Julia Harriman :)
> 
> you can follow me/talk to me on tumblr [here](https://peter-covinskys.tumblr.com/) if you want :)


End file.
